Today's writing

She delivered our drinks, then slid onto the barstool between us. That felt weird. Granted, no one else was in the bar. It was a slow night. Hell, for all I knew it was a slow week, a tired month, a not-too-taxing job. She might have just been bored and amusing herself. All the might-bes, and still she’s sitting between my husband and me. She smells like something. Citrus, maybe, but maybe not. Something a little darker, a little danker. Cloves. Maybe something different. No one ever accused me of having the perfect sense of smell.

 

“You two seem smart,” she says. “You seem like you, I don’t know, read.”

 

I raise an eyebrow at Rob. He smirks and turns back toward Lydia. “I’ve been known to do that,” he says.

 

She swivels her head in my direction with the rest of her body facing him. This all seems very bizarre, but I’m not quite sure why. It’s just someone being friendly. Can I not accept that?

 

Answer: no. No, I cannot. Friendly people so often have an agenda. What’s hers?